


Consonance in Dissonance

by RubyBakeneko



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Canon-Typical Violence, Dom/sub Undertones, Dreams and Nightmares, Episode: s02e09 Shiizakana, Hannibal Gets Off on Will's Sensual Murder Fantasies, Light Bondage, M/M, Masturbation, Restraints, Rope Bondage, Season/Series 02, Sexual Tension, Voice Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-17
Updated: 2017-06-17
Packaged: 2018-11-15 01:35:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11220519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RubyBakeneko/pseuds/RubyBakeneko
Summary: Hannibal habitually listens to his recordings of Will's therapy sessions, and he finds himself especially affected by Will's dream of tying him to a tree. It's a short step from there to thoughts of Will tying him up in other contexts, and to reflections on the appeal of Will’s increasing self-empowerment.





	Consonance in Dissonance

**Author's Note:**

> I've had a frustrating lack of free time for writing recently, but I really wanted to attempt something quick for #JustFuckMeUp and I hoped that Hannibal getting entirely too turned on by Will's murder dreams would qualify. Unsurprisingly, this is set in the latter half of season two.

Hannibal sits at his desk in the firelight, hands clasped in his lap and headphones nestled in his ears. He closes his eyes and submerges himself in the rhythm of Will's voice, every syllable and breath so clear and crisp that Will might as well be standing behind him. 

Documenting their sessions was once about creating a cache of leverage that he could twist and manipulate, could recast in service of the distorted narrative that he might need to craft for others. The practical need for such recordings has passed, but Hannibal's personal desire to obsessively chronicle Will's every shared thought has not. Though his impeccable memory allows him to absorb and store all the pertinent details with ease, the ritual of revisiting their conversations is deeply satisfying. The simple act of listening to the melody of Will's speech is incomparably pleasurable, and never more so than when he is disclosing the things that come from the very darkest parts of his imagination.

"I had a dream I tried to... force an admission out of you," Will says on the recording. There is a shuddering, shaky inhalation before he is able to complete the sentence, a slight quiver in his voice. Hannibal's lip quirks as he imagines Will's heart racing in the cage of his ribs, his pulse fluttering like the wings of a trapped bird.

"I told you I wanted you to admit what you are," he continues. "I knew it—I know it, of course I know it—but I needed to hear you _say_ it."

"And did I tell you what you wanted to hear?"

"True to form, you declined to give a direct answer," Will laughs, the sound hollow and grim. "Instead you told me I refused to see the monster growing inside me. Is that how you view me in the waking world as well?"

"I find it an unhelpfully reductive description."

"Oh?"

"Your mind is a maze of mirrors, and what lies at the center defies easy classification."

"So, not a monster, then," Will says.

"Nothing so obvious. Every fiber of your being is precariously balanced between the allure and the horror of the violence that fills your thoughts. You crave safety, and you crave danger—yet in your perpetual ambivalence, you allow yourself to have neither."

Hannibal remembers the heat of Will's gaze, and the understanding that crackled between them in their unbroken stare.

"You used the word 'force', Will," he hears himself say. "How did you apply this force in your dream?"

"I tied you to a tree."

"How did you tie me?"

"I bound your legs. Your chest. I wrapped the rope around your neck last," Will pauses. "You didn't fight me. You just... let me."

"You find that surprising?"

There's a little snort of amusement. "I do."

Hannibal basks in the detached curiosity of Will's tone, recalls his sharp-eyed, enigmatic smile and all of his easy, captivating vacillations between icy detachment and seething emotion. It is a joy to search for the lines between his expert performances and his raw sincerity, the shifting sands of his intentions appearing to change from moment to moment.

"What do you think it means that I allowed you the freedom to enact your revenge?" Hannibal asks.

"If you were anyone else, I would say you thought you deserved it."

"But I'm not anyone else."

"No, you most certainly are _not_ ," Will says, his response heavy with meanings both flattering and rejecting. Admiration and resentment war under the surface of his words.

There is a brief silence as they leave the question of Hannibal's ambiguous motivations unanswered, at least for now. In the loaded pause, Hannibal pictures Will lying on his back in bed, all messy hairy and sweaty browed, cock stiffening in his shorts as he sleeps. Does he wake up hard after dreams like this, coming furtive and ashamed into his own fist? Hannibal palms himself through his suit pants, his touch barely perceptible—just creating the slightest suggestion of tempting pressure.

"The stag was there," Will continues.

"Your make-believe creature composed of black feathers and antlers."

"Yes. I had it rigged to the ropes, pulling them taut at my command."

"You believe you can triumph over me only by making an ally of your nightmares," Hannibal surmises.

"And triumph I did," Will's tone is seductively poisonous. "The rope was creaking, tightening around your neck. I could see it digging welts into your skin."

Hannibal remembers how Will unconsciously touched his own neck as he spoke, thumb stroking back and forth in the hollow of his throat. Hannibal mimics the gesture on himself now, feels the unusual thump of his pulse and presses down to track the convulsions of his muscles as he swallows.

"You talked about awareness," Will's voice lowers to a darkly intimate murmur that coils around Hannibal's spine. "What it takes to be fully aware of another person, the link between that and the fulfilment of one's potential. You were calm—still. You never struggled. I don't think your breathing even picked up. You just... _looked_ at me."

Hannibal feels his cock swell under the light touch of his hand as he pictures the flush that had slowly darkened Will’s cheeks, the waves of conflict that had flickered across his face.

"And what did it feel like to have me entirely at your mercy?" Hannibal hears the huskiness of his own words, rough with barely suppressed arousal.

"Transcendent," Will says fiercely, and a surge of adoration and pride blazes in Hannibal's chest. 

He pauses the playback of their session recording and unzips his fly with uncharacteristic haste, unable to withstand the urge any longer. He sighs with relief as he finally wraps his fingers around his cock, rigid and aching from just a glimpse of Will's underlying power.

He lets vivid images of Will's dream bloom in his mind's eye as he strokes himself with loose, smooth slides of his fist, letting those ideas tumble and spiral into something levels more lurid and explicit than anything they have ever discussed. He shivers at the notion of his hands being pulled behind his back, at the thought of soft lips tenderly brushing the side of his neck even as his wrists are bound together by Will's rope. Hannibal can feel himself leaking, slicking the movement of his hand as he imagines pressing his face to the crotch of Will's slacks, shamelessly mouthing at the hard outline of his cock while he is denied the satisfaction of digging his fingers into Will's thighs.

He is startled by how intensely he yearns for Will to debase him sometimes. Part of him truly wants to fight and snarl, to claim and dominate, but he finds a richer, subtler type of gratification in watching Will morph into something so jaggedly capable and dangerous. He is utterly seduced by the glimmering hints of predatory aptitude that shine through the cracks in Will’s morality, illuminated by his vibrant fantasies of theatrical vengeance—beautiful proof of the depths of creative depravity coiled inside.

Hannibal thinks of parting his lips to let Will's cock rub across them. He thinks of the wet sheen of velvety skin, of tracing the ridges of prominent veins, of the little bursts of bitter flavor that Will would leak across his tongue. His mouth floods with saliva at the thought of Will's righteous fury translated into demanding thrusts of his hips. 

Through the sheer force of longing, Hannibal can almost feel the way the rope would burn against his wrists and the strain of trying to take more of Will into his throat, can almost hear the sound of harsh curses and stuttered moans spilling through gritted teeth until everything else in his awareness is entirely eclipsed. The chair creaks under him as he rocks into the tight grip of his fist, chasing orgasm with an urgency that's fascinatingly foreign and dangerously heady.

Will would want to mark his face, Hannibal imagines—perhaps leaving streaks of white painting his cheeks, and burying one rough hand in his hair. Maybe he would get to suck the taste from the tips of Will's fingers, his own wrists still helplessly bound behind his back, permitted to reach orgasm only when Will decides to touch him. Gasping at the very edge of his release and biting deep into the flesh of his upper lip, Hannibal resumes the session's audio playback, allowing himself the pleasure of the words he wants to hear the most.

"You told me you loved me, before I killed you," Will whispers. "The fountain of your blood looked exquisite against the pale sky."

With a quiet groan, Hannibal shudders and comes so hard his vision blurs, his left hand digging into the arm of his chair. He has no regard for the mess or the indignity of it, for the stickiness of his skin or the staining of his clothes. His only thoughts are of Will, and of what they might someday become together—resplendent and deadly.

**Author's Note:**

> I’m also [rubybakeneko](https://rubybakeneko.tumblr.com/) on tumblr. Come and say hi any time! And [here's the link to this story on tumblr, should you feel inclined to share it](https://rubybakeneko.tumblr.com/post/161912242175/consonance-in-dissonance-rubybakeneko-hannibal%22). Thanks for reading!


End file.
